


Hearth Fire Tales

by Kenzi_Ro



Series: HKM Stories [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Tiny bit of Angst, and making Thorin read him stories, and the Company tells stories too, but mostly Frodo being an adorable little hobbit, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:11:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenzi_Ro/pseuds/Kenzi_Ro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after Erebor was reclaimed, Bilbo Baggins set out from Bag End for another adventure, leaving his nephew and adopted heir with the family of his gardener. Some time later, the lights in Bag End are lit, and Frodo goes to investigate.</p><p>Or</p><p>A story in which little Frodo Baggins meets a King and stories are shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearth Fire Tales

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the bonus of a prompt over on the kink_meme, and was originally posted there.
> 
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/1990.html?thread=1411526#t1411526

Bag End seemed terrifyingly large to Frodo. When his uncle was there it's largeness was exciting, with adventures around every corner and his uncle's stern voice warning him away from any real danger. When his uncle was there, if the largeness ever scared him his uncle's arms were always open for him to run into and hide.

Without his uncle, Bag End and its largeness were too much for Frodo. He preferred the warmth and clutter of the Gamgees', or the bustling tunnels in Tuckborough and Brandy Hall. Without his uncle, Bag End was empty and Frodo felt terribly small.

When he saw the dark windows glow with candlelight, his heart leapt. Perhaps his uncle was back from his Adventure! Frodo's mind spun with the possible stories his uncle had brought back. Maybe he met more Trolls, or fought another Dragon! Maybe he'd brought a Wizard back with him!

With such thoughts swirling in his head, Frodo took off at a run for Bag End.

The front door was ajar, like it had been forgotten in a hasty entrance, just like when Frodo came barreling in from a day of adventuring, too excited by his latest one to remember the latch. His uncle had always marched him right back and made him close it properly before he could tell his story. 

Under Frodo's hand, the green-painted wood swung open, revealing a towering pile of packs and coat-pegs draped with all manner of belts and cloaks and fur coats! For a moment, Frodo was mesmerized by the multitude of colors: greens and blues and reds and there was even a purple cloak peaking out from behind the one with the large silvery tassel! 

A shout from the parlor drew his attention and, as his uncle had taught him, he tiptoed to the extended archway to peer into the room.

He recognized the shape of dwarves from his uncle's stories: broad shoulders and braided hair. He watched as they milled about, their boots making great clomps and stomps with ever step and the metal in their hair shining in the candlelight. Their clothes were finer than even his uncle's best and Frodo wondered if any of them were kings or princes like his uncle described.

One of the dwarfs, with hair the color of straw, kicked the wall beside the fire. His words were angry, and spoken in a different tongue than any Frodo had heard, but his face was twisted in the same way that Sam's mother's did when they stayed out too late and she worried for them.

Another dwarf, with white beard and a soft looking coat, said something soothing but was cut off by the one sitting in his uncle's armchair. That dwarf's voice was low and Frodo thought he looked an awfully lot like a king on a throne.

The dwarves start arguing in low voices, pointing at each other and hissing through their teeth. Frodo watched as they stood and sat and paced the room. Every now or then a fist would strike an arm or side, and Frodo thought the dwarves must be terribly tough not to even flinch. It went on in such a manner for a long time, until a loud yell by a dwarf with what looked like an axe in his head startled Frodo and he let out a startled gasp.

Quite suddenly, the young hobbit found himself under the scrutiny of the entire company. They were all staring at him, with furrowed brows and eyes shining in the dark. Frodo huddled a little closer to the wall.

After a moment, one of the dwarfs crouched to Frodo's level. "Hello, little one." His hat flopped like bunny ears. "What are you doing there?"

"I …" Frodo looked at the others. They were still staring at him. "Umm …"

The dwarf with the hat smiled. "It's alright, little one. You're in no danger from us. We're old friends of Bilbo's."

Frodo opened his mouth to say his uncle's dwarf friends lived far far away, but he was cut off by the snap of the front door.

"I've asked all over the town. It seems our Mister Baggins has been gone for several weeks." The newest arrival was taller than anyone Frodo had ever seen. He carried a huge grey hat and wooden staff in hand.

Frodo knew him at once. His uncle had spoken with a bitter sort of fondness of the wizard that had brought him into the Adventure. "Gandalf …"

The wizard startled and looked down. To Frodo it seemed like he must have been looking a good ways down considering his head was level with the ceiling. "And who is this?"

"We're not sure, Mister Gandalf, sir." One dwarf said. "Bofur was just asking him."

Frodo whipped around again, all shyness disappearing under the rush of excitement he felt. "Bofur? Like on Uncle's Adventure?"

"Well … I … yes." The dwarf in the hat looked surprised. "Your uncle's adventure?"

"Uh-huh!" The dwarfs were muttering and Frodo completely missed the look Gandalf gave the dwarf in the armchair as he ran to the chest in the foyer. The book was nearly half his size and he staggered under it's weight. "He wrote all about it."

The dwarf in the chair sat forward. "Give it to me."

Frodo paused and took a step backwards, finally remembering the way his uncle locked the book away and never spoke about it unless Frodo asked. "He didn't like sharing…"

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind a few old friends reading about their adventures with him, hmm?" Gandalf's voice was kind. "Thorin will not damage your uncle's work."

Thorin reached out and Frodo handed him the book. The dwarf with the straw-colored hair and another that looked kind of like Thorin leaned over the arms of the chair to see the book.

The straw-haired dwarf spoke first. "There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Holiday-"

The dwarf that looked like Thorin finished, "By Bilbo Baggins."

Their voices had a very lovely rumbling cadence, just like Frodo's uncle had said they did, and quite suddenly, little Frodo Baggins knew that he wanted to share his uncle's story with these strange and familiar dwarves. Without so much as a by-your-leave, which his uncle would have scolded him dreadfully for, he clambered up into Mister Thorin's lap and started turning the pages of his uncle's book.

If Frodo bothered to look up, he would have seen fourteen startled and scandalized faces, including the frozen visage of one Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. He might also have seen the familiar light of mischief, that so often took over the eyes of his cousins, creep into the eyes of the dwarves flanking his uncle's armchair.

"Uncle-"

"-we don't mean to be rude-"

"-but you seem to have acquired-"

"-a growth on your leg."

"Be quiet!" Frodo shushed them. "It's story time!"

There were not a few stifled chuckles around the room as Thorin stared down at the little hobbitling in his lap. "Story time?"

"That means your supposed to read." Frodo helpfully pointed to the passage he'd turned to. "This is the best part, so you should read it first!" Abruptly remembering the manners that his uncle had taught him, Frodo ducked his head. "If you please, sir."

Never let it be said that the heart of Thorin Oakenshield was stone, or that his weakness did not lay in wide eyes and the disappointed droop of a child's shoulders. Despite the many years that had passed since their childhood, the memory of two dwarflings wrapping their uncle around their finger was still quite clear in the minds of the present company. 

With a slight grumble, Thorin began to read. With Frodo curled up in his lap and his Company finding places for themselves around the room, Thorin gave voice to Bilbo's account of their Quest.

The smaller candles around the room flickered and the logs in the fireplace snapped as the pages were turned. Not a few pipes were retrieved and the smoke from them curled up to the ceiling in dim ribbons of silver. 

Trolls and Goblins came and went, as did elves and thunder battles. During the recounting of the riddles in the dark, Thorin's voice tightened to something like steel and Frodo curled his hands into his tunic at the first mention of the Gollum creature's Precious. Absently, Thorin's hand cupped the back of his head and his tone softened.

Both missed the gleeful looks that the two dwarves besides them shared as the tale moved out of the caves beneath the mountains. Similar looks were passed between the rest of the Company. If Thorin noticed those looks, he ignored them.

It wasn't until he came to the part of the orcs taunting the Company in the trees that he stopped speaking. Frodo looked up. "Whats wrong?"

"This is not how it happened." Thorin turned the page. "Why does he leave out his part?"

Around them, the Company stiffened. Frodo frowned. "What part?"

Thorin closed the book with a growl. "Your uncle risked his life to save me from a foolish mistake. It is missing entirely from this book."

"Oh, then it's in another book." Frodo sat up and smiled. "That's uncle's other book."

He was out of Thorin's lap the next moment. His uncle's other book was much smaller than the first one, and Frodo had found it by accident several years before. Its stories made his uncle's eyes sad but they were Frodo's favorites. They weren't really stories about adventure and the Company, or dragons and battles. They were stories about something deeper than that.

In his big book, Frodo's uncle rarely referred to the Company as individuals and everything that happened was grand enough for even the Old Tales. In his Smaller book, his uncle never mentions the Company, just the individuals and the things that happen are smaller. He used to say they were the important stories, about the little things: friendship, trust, laughter, and love. Frodo didn't quite understand why that made them more important, but he loved them regardless.

Pulling the Smaller book from it's hiding place in his uncle's treasure box, Frodo trotted back to the parlor. Gandalf and Thorin were arguing about something, with the other dwarves putting in their own two sense and generally making a large racket. Thorin was leaning forward in his chair and Frodo suddenly wanted to know if he was the King Thorin his uncle talked about.

"Mister Thorin?" Frodo clutched the smaller book to his chest in the silence that followed.

"Yes?"

"Are you the King Under the Mountain?"

The dwarf nodded. "I am."

"Oh." Frodo frowned. "Does it smell like dragon? Because uncle has a chest and he says it smells like troll, but the dragon was there a lot longer so it must smell a lot worse."

Several of the dwarves laughed and Thorin's face softened into a gentle smile. "The lower halls still hold the smell of the wyrm, but it has greatly disappeared. Most often it smells of bread and the forges."

Frodo nodded before he frowned. "What does a forge smell like?"

"Like a hearth fire and rock dust." The dwarf with a bald head folded his arms and his smile was just the pleasant side of terrifying. "It is the smell of hard work and metal."

Frodo's frown deepened. "I don't know what that smells like."

Several of the dwarves chuckled, and the dwarf with the hat patted the hobbit's head. "It is difficult to explain, little one, to one who has no previous experience with such things."

"That makes sense." Frodo held out the Smaller book to Thorin. "The rest of uncle's stories are in here."

Thorin rose from the armchair and took the book in his hands. Slowly he flipped through the pages, and quickly shut the covers. Holding the book back out he shook his head. "I do not think Bilbo would wish you to share this with us, child. Not without his permission."

"But it has your name in it, doesn't it?" Frodo puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. "It's got the best stories! You have to read them!"

For a moment, Frodo thought Thorin was going to yell, because his face darkened just like his uncle's did when Frodo crossed the lines and got in trouble. The dwarf with the straw-hair cleared his throat loudly in a very rude way. "How about, instead of reading old Bilbo's tales, we" the dwarf gestured to the Company, "tell you some of our tales?"

"Oh yes!" The dwarf that looked kind of like Thorin, except not really, Frodo realized, was nodding eagerly. "We've got lots of stories to tell! Have you ever heard the one about the Smith and the Miner's Son?"

Before Frodo could explain that he hadn't heard it, the dwarf was off, spinning out the tale of the Smith and her desire for the gems the Miner's Son had collected. It turned to great fun when the straw-haired dwarf joined him in the telling and they each took on a role, bringing the argument of the Smith and the Miner's Son to life before Frodo's eyes.

When they were done, and had taken a bow, the dwarf with the soft looking coat and white beard began to the story of the Dwarf who forged a Wife so beautiful the Gods themselves grew jealous of her and cursed her with a beard as thick as her husband's, yet the Dwarf only loved her more for it. 

Then Bofur took off his hat and used it to tell the tale of the two Dwarflings who got lost in their Father's mine, outsmarted a Dragon, and brought home its whole hoard to their parents' pride.

The dwarf with the odd pointed hair regaled them with the story of the Dwarf who Forged a new treasure every day for ten years to appease the heart of his Queen, and then the dwarf with the red beard spoke of the Dwarf Lady who's hair was shorn by her rival to shame her, yet wrought a headpiece so fine to cover her head that it was the rival that walked away disgraced.

By the time the straw-haired dwarf and not-quite-like-Thorin dwarf stood up for the tale of the Dwarf cursed to live as a human, Frodo was nodding off to sleep, curled into the soft coat of the white bearded dwarf, and wrapped a warm knitted shirt.

He could hear Gandalf and Thorin talking in the kitchen, and the rest of the Company laughing lowly at the antics of the two current storytellers. The fire was dying and the first dim light of dawn was stealing into Bag End, welcoming a new day, full of the promise of adventure.

Frodo fell asleep there, in the middle of a Company of dwarves, and he dreamed of running down a winding road leading out his door and finding his own adventure along the way.

 

end.

**Author's Note:**

> The stories the Company tells are loosely based on stories from our world such as Hansel and Gretel, Scheherazade, Cinderella, various Greek myths, and so on. I might have had a little too much fun adapting them ...


End file.
